


Grace

by mywordsflyup



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, M/M, Oral Sex, Wicked Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:32:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mywordsflyup/pseuds/mywordsflyup
Summary: It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that Adaar is unquestionably and devastatingly bad at Wicked Grace.





	Grace

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CaesarianConquerer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarianConquerer/gifts).



> This is for [justalittlemeenah](http://justalittlemeenah.tumblr.com)  
> over on Tumblr who was kind enough to commission me.

It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that Adaar is unquestionably and devastatingly bad at Wicked Grace. Dorian imagines that with a face as open and honest as his, any kind of card game would be rather difficult. 

 

It’s also no surprise that Varric is all too happy to take full advantage of this. 

 

“Another loss, I’m afraid, Your Worship,” he says with a little wink as he lays down his cards open in front of him. 

 

Adaar lets out a little sigh and can only watch as Varric pulls the small heap of coins across the table towards him. Dorian clicks his tongue. He saw Adaar’s cards and he didn’t have a bad hand. Just a complete inability to hide that fact. And possibly only a rudimentary understanding of the rules. 

 

Josephine gives him a sympathetic look from across the table. “You have a tell.” 

 

Varric snorts. “Just one?”

 

“Well, no,” Josephine admits, gingerly handing him her cards for shuffling. “But perhaps we should start with the bigger ones first.” 

 

“It’s your ears,” Dorian says, turning his head towards Adaar. “They twitch.” 

 

“They do?” 

 

“And droop.” Dorian is tempted to reach up and trace the outline of Adaar’s ear just to make a point but he’s very aware of the eyes on him. “It’s utterly charming, of course. But also very unsuited for bluffing.” 

 

“Oh.” Adaar lifts a hand to touch his own ear. “You never said anything.” He looks at Josephine, not entirely without accusation. 

 

With a little shrug, she pulls out her coin purse for the next round. “You know I would see you succeed in all things you try. But in this? I am Antivan after all.” 

 

Dorian knows Adaar could never be cross with Josephine, even just for a little while, so when Varric deals him a new hand of cards, he quickly snatches them off the table before Adaar can take them. 

 

“This smells of exploitation,” he says, sorting the cards in his hand. “I think I shall intervene.” 

 

“I thought you weren’t playing tonight, Sparkler.”

 

He gives Varric a pointed look. “Special circumstances.” He turns to look at Adaar whose brow is knitted in confusion. “We’ll play this hand together. Perhaps that way we’ll beat these villains.” 

 

Adaar’s smile is soft and warm but not as startling as his hand on Dorian’s arm, giving him a gentle squeeze before settling back in his chair. “Thank you. Perhaps I’ll learn something.” 

 

This thing between them is still new and as exhilarating as it’s been, Dorian has to admit he’s still trying to find his footing. As in all things, Adaar has proven himself to be nothing but patient about it, giving him the time and space he’s needed to familiarize himself with this new situation. There’s a difference between stolen kisses in the shadows or even the privacy of Adaar’s chambers and… this. This steadfast man by his side, the affection he gives so freely and willingly without expecting anything in return. This thing that feels too safe and too solid to be real sometimes. 

 

“Sparkler?” Varric’s voice pulls him out of his thoughts and he blinks. 

 

“Surely your hand cannot be that bad.” There’s a gleam in Josephine’s eyes that he’s only ever seen when she’s playing Wicked Grace. 

 

Dorian looks at the cards in his hand. They’re not terrible. From the corner of his eye he can see Adaar craning his neck and he turns his hand a little so he can see better. “Do watch your ears, please.” 

 

They work better as a team, which really shouldn’t come as a surprise at all. With Adaar by his side, he’s less likely to take irresponsible risks even when Varric is goading him. And Adaar is all too happy to let Dorian take the reigns. 

 

He’s just won them the first smaller victory of the night, when the door opens. The Iron Bull usually has to duck when he enters through any door but this time it’s only complicated by the big crate he’s carrying. Dorian recognizes the crest etched into the wood. 

 

“I’d chide you for being so late but if that is what I think it is…”

 

Bull reaches into the crate and pulls out a bottle. “The finest straight from Antiva.” He winks at Josephine. “As always.”

 

Josephine laughs, a sound clear as a bell. “That is an excuse I can accept.” 

 

From behind Bull, Sera squeezes herself through the door frame, carrying two bottles of her own. “Even got some of the sweet stuff.” She peeks at the label as if she’s seeing it for the first time. “Rivaini, though.”

 

“Just for you, boss,” Bull says and hefts the crate onto the edge of the table. 

 

Adaar is delighted, of course. The only person who would be grateful to be served cheaper wine if it meant it was as sweet and flowery as he liked it. As Dorian pours him a glass, he feels a strange kind of fondness well up inside him. 

 

Varric shuffles the cards for a new round. Sera is an even worse player than Adaar, prone to dropping her cards when in the middle of telling an especially riveting and scandalous story. The story usually makes up for it. 

 

With both Bull and Josephine at the table, Dorian doesn’t have especially high hopes of winning but he holds his own for at least a while. Adaar is a warm and comforting presence next to him, even more so after his second glass when his laughter comes more freely and his hand finds Dorian’s arm again, ever so gently. 

 

Dorian watches him from the corner of his eye as he takes a sip of his sweet wine and licks his lips. He knows he will taste it later when he kisses him and the thought is almost enough to get him to miss the slight uptick of Varric’s lip - the last tell he can’t seem to shake.

 

For a man his size, it doesn’t take a lot to get Adaar pleasantly buzzed. Dorian has seen it more than once. When Adaar leans down to whisper strategy into his ear, he can feel the warmth radiating off him. 

 

“You’re thinking of Diamondback,” Dorian tells him, keeping his voice low. “Different rules.”

 

Adaar shifts a little closer to get a good look at their cards. “Am I? Oh, I think you’re right.” His thigh is touching Dorian’s and suddenly it becomes very difficult to even think about stupid card games. 

 

Dorian feels heat creeping up his neck and he’s fairly certain it has nothing to do with the wine. 

 

Two rounds later, Adaar shifts again, a hand on the small of Dorian’s back. And Dorian… He decides to blame the Antivan wine and leans into it, resting against his side. 

 

Adaar knows his boundaries, knows what he’s comfortable with. And even under the influence of some criminally sweet wine, he respects that. But there’s something nice about his touches. And here, in the company of their friends and good wine and cards that are definitely stacked against him, he feels… safe. 

 

He also feels incredibly warm, but that might actually just be the wine. 

 

Adaar manages to keep up a fairly decent conversation with the Iron Bull while Dorian loses another round to Josephine. He’s not really listening, the low timbre of Adaar’s voice just a pleasant background noise. His hand is still on the small of Dorian’s back, a comforting anchor. 

 

Dorian has learned from experience that it’s better not to get lost in thoughts about the size of Adaar’s hand when he’s in public. 

 

Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if it’s always going to be this way. Every touch and every word feels like a spark, every smile seems like a precious gift. Surely, this excitement will have to wane someday. Surely, it can’t always be this… intense. 

 

He’s considering his next move, when Adaar turns to him and leans down to whisper in his ear. 

 

“If I have another glass of this you’ll be the one who has to carry me to bed tonight.” His breath is warm against Dorian’s skin and just for a moment he imagines him sinking his teeth into the curve of his neck like he did the night before. There’s no trace left of it now, not when Adaar insista on healing every mark and scratch on him every time, but Dorian still remembers what it felt like. 

 

Closing his eyes is an almost instinctive decision - as is the pleasant shudder running down his spine. The urge to be alone with Adaar is nearly overwhelming all of a sudden. Only the sound of Varric clearing his throat pulls him out of it.

 

“You seem distracted, Sparkler,” Varric says with a smile that doesn’t fool Dorian for a second. 

 

“I am starting to suspect that this Antivan wine was a deliberate attempt at making me lose this game. Every single one of you would certainly be capable of it.” 

 

Josephine gives him an innocent little smile. “You say that as if I couldn’t outplay you even sober.” 

 

Folding his hand, Dorian shrugs. “Perhaps, Ambassador. But that is a bet for a different night. Both my dignity and I need a good night’s rest first.” 

 

Despite the late hour and the wine loosening their tongues, there are no lewd comments or whistling that follows them as both he and Adaar get up and leave the room - even when Adaar laces his fingers with his even before they reach the door. 

 

It hasn’t full fallen shut behind them, when Dorian finds himself pressed against the wall, caught between the rough stone behind him and a warm body in front of him. It hasn’t lost its thrill, being crowded by these strong arms and broad chest and hot breath against the column of his neck as Adaar presses his lips against his skin. He makes a sound, something between surprise and laughter. The wine is making his head spin a little, still pleasurable enough and almost indistinguishable from the way Adaar’s kisses usually make him feel. 

 

“Amatus,” he says into the privacy of the dark hallway and Adaar hums, the vibrations of it running through Dorian in the best possible way. 

 

Another noise, needier than the first and Adaar finally takes pity on him and kisses him properly. Dorian tastes the sweet wine on his lips and chases the taste, hungry for more. 

 

If someone were to leave the game now, they surely would be caught like this. Dorian has no desire to share any of it. He knows there are some people who get excited by the thought of getting caught but he feels none of it. Adaar deserves better than being part of a scandal or a joke. And he’s starting to think that perhaps he does as well. 

 

Adaar breaks their kiss, only to tap his forehead against Dorian’s. “Are you alright?” 

 

Dorian cups his face with his hands, a wave of affection washing over him. “More than alright. But as much as I love this enthusiasm… Take me to your room, will you?.” 

 

Adaar’s laughter is a little breathless and Dorian takes the opportunity to lean in and steal another kiss before Adaar steps away. He takes his hand again and somehow that feels even more intimate than getting pressed against a wall and kissed in some dark corridor. 

 

The way to Adaar’s room is familiar by now. He’s climbed these stairs often enough, both in daylight and in those secret hours of the night. 

 

Dorian knows secrecy, especially when it comes to this. But there’s none of the desperation or the dread he remembers so well from his youth. This thing between them, still so new and ever growing, is a precious thing. If he wants to keep it away from prying eyes, it’s only because he’s not ready to share any of the light and joy it brings him. 

 

For once, he doesn’t feel bad for allowing himself this selfishness. 

 

“Do you need me to carry you now?” Dorian asks at the bottom of the stairs leading up to Adaar’s room and gently bumps his hip against Adaar's thigh. “You don’t seem to have problems standing yet but I wouldn’t want to risk it.”

 

Adaar laughs again, that carefree sound Dorian doesn’t hear often enough these days. And before he can make another offer, he finds himself swept up in Adaar’s strong arms, like a blushing maiden ready to be carried over the threshold. It’s hardly the first time Adaar has indulged him like this but Dorian gasps nevertheless, quick to sling his arms around his neck. 

 

“I think I prefer this,” Adaar says and starts ascending the stairs. “And something tells me you do too.” 

 

“Whatever gave me away?” Dorian presses his face into the soft fabric of Adaar’s shirt to hide his laughter. It’s no secret that he loves when Adaar picks him up - the way it doesn’t seem to be an effort for him at all.

 

Even now, late at night and after several glasses of wine, Dorian’s weight doesn’t seem to bother him at all, every step safe and confident. Dorian feels affection swell up in his chest. 

 

The fire burned down almost completely while they were gone, with the cold from outside slowly creeping through the old stone walls. With a wave of his hand, flames start licking at the charred wood once more and he has just enough time for a small satisfied smile before Adaar drops him onto the bed. 

 

Dorian sits up and makes an undignified noise, more out of surprise than anything but before he can complain, Adaar is on his knees in front of the bed. His large hands are reaching for him and any complaint dies on Dorian’s tongue. 

 

The fire illuminates him from behind, casting a warm glow around him. The curve of his horns, the breadth of his shoulders. Everything bathed in golden light, just as it should be. 

 

“Come here,” Dorian hears himself say, his voice almost like a stranger’s. 

 

Instead, Adaar holds on to his legs, pulling him towards the edge of the bed with ease. Dorian is certain he has to be able to hear how loud his heartbeat is. 

 

“Now that’s a sight I could get used to,” he says quietly and cups the side of Adaar’s face with one hand. Even with him on his knees, Dorian only has to lean down a little bit to kiss him. Adaar slides his hands up his thighs and when Dorian gasps, he takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, deepening the kiss and making Dorian grateful that he’s already sitting down. Adaar’s lips still taste like sweet wine, he finds. 

 

He’s the one who breaks the kiss this time, taking a deep breath and gently tracing the length of Adaar’s right ear with his fingers. It twitches slightly under his touch. 

 

“Your tell,” Dorian says and gives his ear a little tug. 

 

“And what is it telling you?” 

 

“Mh. You think you have excellent cards. A perfect hand, even.” 

 

Adaar’s smile is bright and warm and altogether too much. “Would that assumption be so wrong?” 

 

Dorian lets go of his ear to start unlacing his shirt, fingers brushing against the warm skin of his chest. “Not at all.” 

 

It’s easy after that, it always is. His best clothes dropped on the floor without a second thought. Breathless laughter at Adaar’s inability to figure out the intricate lacing of his breeches. The first soft sigh when Adaar presses his lips to the inside of his thigh. 

 

Dorian loves him like this and any other way. Looking up at him from between his legs, long lashes throwing a fan of shadow on his cheeks. He likes to take his time, leaving kisses and small bites in his wake. The latter have Dorian gasping and writhing already, arousal building in his belly like a hot metal coil. It’s going to leave marks, small enough that Adaar won’t insist on healing them immediately. But enough for Dorian to press his fingers against in the days to come, reliving his moment again and again. 

 

He runs his fingers along the curve of one of Adaar’s horns, the texture familiar to him now. Adaar looks up at him again and must notice the impatience in his face, the urgency. 

 

When he licks a broad stripe from the base to the head of his cock, Dorian almost cries out. His hand grips Adaar’s horn tightly and it earns him a smile that almost borders on cockiness. 

 

“Do you intend to tease me all day?” 

 

Adaar’s thumb draws circles on his hip. “Just a little bit. You can lie back if you want.” 

 

Dorian catches his chin with his free hand and tilts it up just so. “No,” he says and his voice is already a low raspy thing. “I want to see.” 

 

He watches, with his heart hammering in his chest, as Adaar sinks down on his cock with ease. His full lips stretched and his eyes sliding closed. The heat of his mouth has Dorian gasping, one hand on his horn and the other twisted in the sheet on the bed.  

 

“Amatus,” he says, breathless now, and is rewarded with a low hum that makes him cry out in earnest now. 

 

It’s messier than usual, perhaps. Dorian could blame the wine but then again, Adaar makes more than up for it with enthusiasm. He takes all of him and swallows around him and Dorian is certain he sees stars. 

 

Later, he will open Dorian up with thick slick fingers, the sweetest words dripping from his tongue like honey. And later still, when they are both spent and aching in all the best ways, he’ll pull him close underneath the blanket before drifting off to sleep. 

 

Perhaps it will always be like this, in some way or other. With Adaar by his side, Dorian isn’t quite so afraid to wait and find out.

**Author's Note:**

> About fic requests inquire [here.](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/ask)  
> You can also find me on Tumblr, if you want: [damnable-rogue](http://damnable-rogue.tumblr.com/)  
> 


End file.
